Error of Judgement
by junejuly15
Summary: A lazy morning in bed - With Sherlock - What a life! But one text from Lestrade is enough to shatter John's illusion. Hours later John and Sherlock find themselves on a dark and deserted country road somewhere in Wales and John is less than pleased ... JOHNLOCK/ Sequel to SIMPLE TRUTHS. Chapter 3: Found ... and Sherlock says I love you ... NOW COMPLETE
1. Error of Judgement

**This is the first chapter of a shorter Johnlock fic based on a prompt by the lovely **_**Oneofthoselunatics**_**. It sets off right after **_**Simple Truths**_**, so if you want to know how they came to be what they are in this story (relationship-wise ;-D) it's advisable to read the other one first, but otherwise **_**Error of Judgement**_** can be read as a standalone as well. **

**Enjoy reading! **

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**Error of Judgement**

'This is the life!' John mumbled against soft and warm skin. 'Let's stay here - Forget about bloody work, forget about ordinary life and ordinary people - just you and me.'

'Hmm,' Sherlock absentmindedly responded, his eyes never leaving the display of his phone. John slightly lifted his head from Sherlock's chest and glanced up at him only to find that he was far, far away. His eyes, although fixed on the display, were unfocused, concentrating on the world within him. His mind was evidently occupied - very likely by the bloody text that had disrupted their blissful morning a minute ago.

John settled back onto Sherlock's chest and closed his eyes, trying his utmost not to get peeved by this interruption. He couldn't help feeling a little nagging inside his heart though, slowly eating away the peace he had felt mere moments ago, replacing it with something less light and pleasant. He cleared his throat and adjusted his posture, trying to find back to the ease he had enjoyed, here in their bed, in their bedroom, on this Saturday morning. He felt Sherlock tensing in response to his miniscule motion, his whole body going rigid as if John was weighing him down, holding him back. Unconsciously John lifted his head again and Sherlock took advantage of this moment and quickly sat up. And more, in one fluid movement he left the bed and padded out of the room, oblivious to the fact that he was naked, his eyes glued to the phone, his fingers racing over the buttons composing an answer.

'What the bloody hell …' John softly cursed and slumped back onto the cushions, feeling very much like an old blanket, thoughtlessly discarded when no longer needed. He pressed his lips together, slowly counting down from ten to one, trying not to let this incident entirely destroy a morning which had started out in such a promising way.

'John!' Sherlock's demanding voice sounded from the living room. 'John, don't dawdle! Hurry up, we need to go to Wales!'

oOo

'I _need_ to work! I have been cooped up in our flat for ages! Come on, John. You know what I'm like.'

'You have been ill, Sherlock. Let me remind you that you were running a high fever, you were weak as a kitten and these three days at home were the pared-down minimum and, let me say this as your doctor, absolutely necessary.'

'_Three days_, John! Three days and all the while this madman was running riot in Wales! We couldn't wait any longer and lose more time! We obviously had to go this morning when Lestrade texted an address where he is staying at the moment. You know as well as I do that he's not exactly going to wait for us, is he? Oh, this is going to be so much fun, John!'

'Sure,' John mumbled, still not convinced. Not convinced that Sherlock should be dashing about in his usual careless manner already. Not convinced that it had been absolutely necessary to leave their bed and their newfound happiness together so soon and wade through knee-high sheep droppings and dead leaves covering Welsh meadows to chase a crazed murderer. Not convinced at all that he wanted to spend their first weekend as lovers like that.

An unwelcome grumpiness was slowly smouldering inside his chest, kindled by the fact that they had left the flat in an undignified hurry and without a proper breakfast. Sherlock had been so impatient and pushing that he had been barely able to pack properly, but had just blindly thrown a few things into his battered leather overnight bag.

Their train ride to Cardiff had passed in silence, Sherlock too occupied with the case and John silently contemplating what had happened, and now they were driving along deserted Welsh country roads in a rental car. Sherlock was driving in fact, as John to his eternal discontent had no driving license. It was something that rarely played a role in London as they were always using cabs anyway and the Jubilee line very handy just across the street. But on cases outside London, Sherlock invariably had to drive. Usually John didn't mind overly much, but in the particular situation they found themselves in, this fact only added to his irritation. He felt like _something_ that was trundling along, a mere accessory to the great master.

John cleared his throat and glanced at Sherlock who was sitting slightly forward, his eyes narrowed, his face a study of concentration. John let his eyes rest on his beautiful face for a moment before he followed Sherlock's gaze and stared ahead. He had been so occupied with his slowly smouldering discontent that he hadn't paid an awful lot of attention to where they were driving. With a slight lurch of his stomach he realised that they had ventured deep into a very deserted valley and that daylight was rapidly fading lending even more bleakness to this already bleak December day. To top it all off, the light drizzle which had been a steady companion since Cardiff had turned into something more serious, heavy droplets starting to pelt down in earnest now. 'Oh for God's sakes,' John muttered under his breath which of course didn't go unnoticed.

'It's only rain, John. No need to be moaning and fretting like an old woman.'

'It's only rain? _Only_ rain?' John sensed that this was it and that he was close to eruption without any substantial will left to stop him from doing so. '_Where_ are we going Sherlock? And _why_ are we here? We could be at home, warm and cosy, tucked up in our bed. Or at least we could solve a nice London-based mystery instead of driving around in no-man's land and getting bloody lost. '

'Boring!' Sherlock only answered and tried very hard to hide a smug smile.

'_Boring_? _Jesus_!' John huffed. 'And why are you grinning, Sherlock? Do you think this is funny? Do you?' John turned to fully face Sherlock who continued staring straight ahead, ostensibly concentrating on the road.

'Let me tell you something, Sherlock. I don't think this is funny at all and there is no need for that frankly infuriating smug smile of yours. This is bloody outrageous! I want to go back home, to London, and I want to do it now as I definitely don't want to spend the bloody night somewhere in this bloody car!'

'Are you done now?'

'No! I am _not_!' John spat out and drew some breath and while doing so his gaze fell on the display of the sat nav. His eyes widened, '_Off Road_? We are fucking OFF ROAD? For how long have we been OFF ROAD, Sherlock?'

'About 9.5 miles,' Sherlock calmly replied, his concentration required elsewhere and not to be wasted on a frankly childish fight with his John. 'Rest assured I know exactly where we are going.'

'How can you possibly know where we are going? Have you been here before? Have you got night vision like a bat? Have you got a map of the Welsh hinterland engraved onto your brilliant mind?'

Sherlock glanced at him, a deep furrow between his brows and the corners of his lips turned down, indicating his incomprehension of the level of hostility hurled at him. Glancing away he chose to remain quiet. This, however only served to rekindle John's anger.

'Not worthy a reply, am I? The great Sherlock Holmes and simple Dr John Watson. What a pair, what an unlikely pair. How can this brilliant mind even put up with him …' John's voice broke and trailed off, his anger having peaked and erupted, slowly ebbing away.

'Are you done now?' Sherlock asked again, but his voice was gentle, no sarcasm required in this situation.

'Yes,' John nodded, glancing outside into the cold and wet landscape. The constant whooshing past of dark nothingness greatly helped to calm him down. He hunched his shoulders and shivered as it was growing rather cold in the car. 'Could you close your window, Sherlock?'

'Um – No, actually, I can't.'

_What now?_ John was incredulous. 'Why on earth not? It's bloody December, we're in arctic Wales, It's pouring down and I am cold! So would you please have the utmost courtesy to close the bloody window.'

'Believe me John, I really would, but I can't.' John turned in his seat and faced Sherlock. Sherlock sensing John's full attention on him, squirmed in his seat and cleared his throat.

'Well?' John urged him on and Sherlock knew he had to spill the beans.

'Obviously I _need_ the window open even if it's only a crack – I don't know if you ever noticed but I always try to open the window when we're in a cab, every time, and I do so in rental cars as well...'

'Yes, I have noticed actually. But why do you need to?'

'I suffer from a mild form of claustrophobia – and only in very confined spaces like cars or lifts. Opening the window is my crutch, helps me to overcome it. It is just a matter of will power really and I can handle it.'

'Right – I'd never have guessed, Sherlock. I'd never have made that connection.'

'Maybe I didn't want you to …' Sherlock hesitated, 'make that connection.'

'Right – And of course I didn't. Stupid me! Because I only see, but do not observe. I know, I bloody well know.' John sounded tired, Sherlock noticed, and disappointed. He glanced at him, he would have very much liked to touch him, kiss the disappointment away, but John had turned to the window and curled into himself. Whether it was because of the cold or something else entirely, Sherlock could not fathom. He knew John better than anybody else in his life, but this whole relationship thing was new, puzzling and overwhelming for him. He quickly turned his gaze back to the road.

When John spoke it was against the window pane and as if the uncomfortable lull in their conversation had never occurred. 'I understand Sherlock, I really do, but it is freezing and I'm cold and I'd really love to take a break now, grab a bite, maybe get some rest.'

'Yes! Yes, this is an excellent idea. There's only one minor problem, John' Sherlock muttered, sounding distinctly less assured than usual.

'Aye?' John looked up and turned to him. 'What's that, Sherl?'

'I have absolutely no idea where we are. To be honest we are utterly and completely lost!'

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**A/N**

Thank you very much for reading!

As usual your feedback is very, very appreciated ;-D JJ


	2. Lost

'Stop the car, Sherlock!' John pressed out between clenched teeth, his jaw muscles working hard to bite back the anger that was swilling around in his mouth like a bad taste. 'Stop it _now_!'

Sherlock tore his gaze away from the impenetrable darkness outside and quickly glanced at John who presented a textbook picture of hostility with his arms crossed defiantly in front of his chest and a pinched look to his mouth. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, assessing his lover's posture – _Very interesting body language indeed, he's literally holding himself together to prevent himself from exploding_ - He fixed his eyes back on the wet and glittering road before he slowed down and brought the car to a halt in the middle of the track. No danger in doing so as they had not passed a car or a human dwelling in the past thirty minutes. A quick turning of the keys and the engine died, leaving them in an almost absolute, but portentous silence with the only regular sound being the heavy droplets of icy rain pelting on the roof and against the windows.

Sherlock risked yet another sideways glance at John to gauge the level of his irritation and from what he saw he deemed it wise not to hold one of his lectures or even say anything. Biting his lips he turned back to the window and stared into the cold, dark night.

'What are we going to do now?' John finally asked, his voice as restrained as his posture.

Sherlock cleared his throat, a nervous habit he had unconsciously adopted from John, 'Well, I'd say it's probably best if we were to turn around and drive back.'

'Drive back. Okay - Right. To do _what_ exactly, Sherlock?' John asked, speaking very quietly indeed. Sherlock was surprised how scary it was to listen to the ostensible calmness in his voice when they both knew that he was barely holding it together and very close to eruption.

'I think we should drive back the way we came until the satnav picks up a signal again thus enabling us to drive into the next village or town. There we can try finding something to eat for you and a mobile signal for me to contact Lestrade.'

'Lestrade? Oh, yes, stupid me. I almost forgot. We're actually here to chase a murderer, aren't we?' John shifted a bit in his seat, but his unyielding posture remained unchanged. 'Sherlock, tell me, just because I'm curious. How come Lestrade is involved in a case in rural Wales? I mean, folks around here certainly know their policing tactics, procedures and such, and it's not exactly the Yard's jurisdiction, is it?'

Sherlock felt on safer ground now, and choosing to ignore John's sarcastic undertone, he was happy to relate the bare facts. 'DI Thomas from Cardiff headquarters called Lestrade in for help as the murderer seemed to spread his wings towards the capital. Sadly enough the imbeciles at the Yard, and that of course includes Anderson, could not find the threads that would help them to unravel this mystery. Hence, Lestrade called me in.' John flinched and Sherlock was quick to add, 'Us – he called _us_ in. Remember? You could not accompany me because you weren't able swap hours at the surgery on such short notice.'

'I do remember, Sherlock. But even you have to admit that we're on a rather wild goose chase here now. I mean we're at a severe disadvantage, aren't we? No map, no GPS signal. We don't know the area, it's bloody dark and it's absolutely bucketing down! And we're on bloody murder hunt! Alone! That means without backup! Where exactly is this man supposed to be hiding, anyway?'

'Near a tiny hamlet called Benton. My plan was to go near the hamlet today and try to track him down in the early hours of tomorrow. However, I miscalculated a bit how far it was and that we might actually get a bit –'

'We might get a bit? A bit _what_, Sherlock?'

'Lost.'

'Oh, for _fuck's_ sake!' John snapped and his desperate attempt not to fly off the handle crumbled to dust and dissolved into the cold Welsh winter air. He punched his hands hard against the headboard and then ruffled them through his hair in frustration.

'I don't know if that's a consolation,' Sherlock calmly said, 'But I remember exactly where we left the main road, we just have to find our way back there.'

'Oh, _really_?' John said, the two words dripping with sarcasm, an overused device of Sherlock's usually.

'Yes, indeed!' Sherlock responded, obviously not willing to fight. John was astonished, frankly overwhelmed by the calm Sherlock exuded and not entirely sure if Sherlock's calm should enrage him even more or not. Obviously he did not seem to doubt for one second that they would find back to the street, get the satnav working again and most of all find a human dwelling with friendly people willing to offer them food and maybe even shelter.

John hung his head and slowly exhaled - Well, if Sherlock was so confident, so convinced, maybe he should swallow his crippling anger, sit back, relax and put some trust in him, trust in the great Sherlock Holmes' innate sense of direction.

'I rather like that,' Sherlock interrupted his train of thought and turned towards him. John lightly shook his head, incomprehension and tiredness battling for dominance in his mind, and all the while angry the thoughts were clinging to him like fog, with their clingy, sticky paws, unloved and unwanted. He exhaled once more with determination and glanced up. He found Sherlock smiling at him in a way that was uniquely him, lopsided and with crinkles around his eyes, a smile which, John knew, was only reserved for him.

John snorted and shook his head again. Sherlock, like a predator sensing the weakening of his prey, seized the opportunity and took his hand, intertwining his warm slender fingers with John's stubbier and ice cold digits. Surprised John looked down at their hands and his mind reeled backwards to what Sherlock had said a moment ago, 'What do you mean? _What_ do you like?' He was feeling a bit hollow now as the all-consuming anger that had built a fort inside his chest and had taken up so much room, so much energy, was slowly seeping away, a process greatly helped by Sherlock's tender gesture.

'The fact that you always ask back when you're insecure or angry or incredulous. I rather like that, you know. It's so you, my John.'

John scoffed, a last sign of his anger, but they both knew that the storm was over, and then he was able to relax and slowly circled his thumb over Sherlock's hand. 'Trust you to make a compliment at the most inopportune moment of all.'

'Not good?' Sherlock shuffled in his seat and leaned closer. John looked up and straight into those piercing light blue eyes, 'No. Very good, Sherl.'

Sherlock smiled again and closed the gap between them. The first contact of skin on skin after all the hours John had avoided touching him in his slow-smouldering anger, was like an electric jolt and a stuttering moan escaped Sherlock. Kissing John was still so new, so all-consuming, the sensation regularly shutting off all logical and cold and analytical sections of his mind, only leaving the few warm and glowing ones that had been resilient enough to survive the years of self-imposed loneliness.

Since they had realised what they meant to each other he had allowed sentiment to creep back into his mind and heart, let tactile sensations reign, making him more pliable, certainly weaker and much more vulnerable. But he knew that this was part of the package when you loved someone, and he was willing to allow this weakness. He saw the same weakness in John and he also saw that it wasn't a weakness that overcame you and left you beaten, no it was a soft weakness that paradoxically straightened your back and gave you strength.

John answered Sherlock's soft moan with a breathy gasp and closed his eyes, relishing the sensation of soft lips on lips. He lifted his hand and weaved his fingers through Sherlock's curls, enjoying the cold that seemed to cling to the tips, soon dissolving into warmth when his fingers dug deeper into that curly mass and touched Sherlock's scalp. Sherlock flinched as his follicles were over-sensitive especially here in this freezing car, but it was only a momentary displeasure and he soon gave in to the tenderness of John's fingers and melted into John's kiss. Shuffling closer, he tried to wrap his long arms around him, sharing closeness and a bit of body heat. The fact that the car was less than spacious and that they were both strapped, soon lent some limitations to this endeavour and Sherlock softly cursed between kisses, wiggling uncomfortably.

'Sherl,' John breathed, 'We need to drive back. It's getting absolutely freezing in here. We can't risk spending the night outside. We really can't.'

Sherlock immediately straightened, catapulted back to their uncomfortable reality by John's sobering remark. 'You're right. Yes - We can't stay here.' A shudder ran over his lean body. 'I can't envision spending the night in the car, it might get really uncomfortable and far too cold to leave the window open …' Another shudder ran over him and he turned the keys to ignite the engine. John understood, no need to spell it out, but it was high time to find a way back to civilization as the rain had turned into sleet, threatening to turn into snow sooner or later. With a neat three-point-turn Sherlock turned the car around and they headed back into the direction they had come from.

oOo

A strangled cry woke him, a few muffled words – _Out_ … _need to get out _– jolted his sleepy mind back to awareness and made him open his eyes only to find darkness surrounding him. He heard a door creaking open and an icy gust of air hit him square in the face which made him close his eyes again instinctively. A few steps, strangely muffled as set on a carpet, moving away from him, and then Sherlock was gone.

John sat up and bumped his head. 'Ouch!' he cursed and then realization dawned on him. _Car, Wales, lost_ – 'Sherlock?' he called, fumbling with the door handle, and when his numb fingers had finally managed to open it, he quickly followed him out into the cold. The bend where they had parked the car hours before was completely transformed. Blinding white snow, at least three inches of it, covered every surface, smoothing every bump in the surrounding fields. John quickly walked around the car to the driver's side and scanned the ground. In that very moment he was more than grateful for the snow as it made finding Sherlock so much easier. He only needed to follow the footsteps.

Sherlock had not come far and John found him maybe twenty yards away, hidden from view by a few trees. He was standing in an open field, the snow coming up to his ankles. He was bent double and gulping for air. When John came nearer he saw that he was frantically pulling at his scarf and trying to shrug out of his coat. 'Sherlock,' John said, and he couldn't keep anxiety from his voice, 'Sherl, what are you doing?'

'Couldn't … breathe,' Sherlock stammered, greedily gulping down the icy air. 'Car … like a … coffin. Couldn't … breathe.'

John glanced back to the car which was entirely covered by snow, every window covered thickly by it, and understood. 'Sherlock, I'm sorry.'

His first impulse was to gather him in a tight embrace, to shelter him from the panic, but he knew that having just fled a confined space because he had been claustrophobic Sherlock wouldn't welcome such a gesture. Instead John put his hand soothingly on his shoulder, thus signalling him he was there, and it was all fine, no need to worry. Sherlock's breathing gradually slowed down, became less ragged and after a minute or so, he stopped grabbing frantically at his clothes and straightened his back.

John stepped in front of him and helped him back into his coat, loosely buttoning it, not without asking for allowance with his eyes first and waiting for Sherlock to nod. 'Thank you, John,' he said, calming down more and more, and the panic almost completely gone from his voice now.

After having driven around for almost two hours, looking for the blasted main road, they had given up. Sleet had long turned into snow, at times coming almost horizontally at them, making it almost impossible to see more than five or ten yards. Of course the rental car was equipped with winter tyres, but Sherlock wasn't used to driving on snow and became a bit flustered. For the very first since they had started this ill-fated trip on this late December morning his calm and confidence had crumbled and so John had suggested stopping and waiting it out. Hopefully the heavy snowfall would abate soon and then they could move on.

Alas, if anything it had started snowing harder and harder, and so they had waited, falling asleep in the ice cold vehicle eventually. John had woken once and had closed the window as it had become unbearably cold. Sherlock had been asleep and blissfully unaware, until he had woken that was.

And here they were now. In the ice cold, snowed under nothingness of Wales, frozen to the bone, hungry and tired. John scanned Sherlock's face, it was more composed now, almost bearing his usual beautiful serenity, and he deemed it safe to close the gap between them. He embraced Sherlock, desperate to remind him that closeness was a good thing and that he no longer had to fear being confined and restricted. Sherlock answered this hug instinctively and they stood, holding each other in the white coldness, a tall, lanky man and a smaller, sturdy one, and it was a shame that nobody was there to enjoy the sight.

'What are we going to do now?' John eventually asked, adopting the role of the helpless, trying to bring the over-confident Sherlock back, the one who always knew what to do. For the sake of that John was more than willing to play the one in need of guidance and even if Sherlock saw right through this act, a ploy as clear as glass actually, he was nonetheless thankful and willing to play along. He narrowed his eyes at John and then glanced up into the dark night. 'It stopped snowing, that's a good thing. I gather it's safe enough to get going again, a main road or at least a farm can't be too far away. After all we're not in Siberia. Last time I looked there were plenty of Welsh around.'

John nodded, thus encouraging him some more, glad of the usual nonchalant and ironic behaviour, coaxing his love back to his normal self. Sherlock dropped his gaze and when he glanced back up he smiled and offered his arm to John, 'Shall we?'

Smiling back John linked arms with him, 'Bloody hell - Of course, we shall!'

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**A/N** Thank you all so much for your reviews, for alerting and favouriting! Please keep it up! JJ


	3. Found

**This is the last chapter of this short fic … and it brings a very fluffy conclusion. Enjoy reading!**

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**Found**

The icy silence surrounding them was beautiful, crystalline and crisp and almost palpable like the white plumes of breath dancing in front of their faces. John leaned his head against Sherlock's taller frame and was rewarded with strong arms wrapped around his shoulders protectively when they walked the few yards back to their snow-covered car.

Together they started to clear the snow away, occasionally smiling at each other over the bonnet or the roof, aware and glad of the company of the other, thankful for the exercise which brought a modicum of warmth back to their bones. Sherlock especially felt the benefit as it also helped to chase away the last remnants of panic which were still clinging to him like wisps of fog.

They had worked in silence for a good five minutes when suddenly Sherlock lifted his head and became utterly still. 'Do you hear that?' he whispered, obviously unwilling to spoil the pure silence more than necessary. John stopped scraping the ice from the rear window and straightened his back. But as much as he wanted he couldn't hear anything and shook his head.

'There – this low humming sound ...' Sherlock stepped away from the car and right into the middle of the road, facing whatever might come their way. John strained his ears and after a moment he could indeed hear something, rapidly becoming clearer and more distinct. 'Sherlock! – A car! Someone's coming, Sherl!'

John joined Sherlock and faced the road and – _Yes!_ - maybe two or three hundred yards away lights were dancing over the snow and the unmistakable sound of a car rapidly drifting into their direction became louder and louder. John gave Sherlock's hand a quick squeeze and whispered, 'Let me do the talking, Sherl.'

Surprised by his words Sherlock turned to him, but this went unnoticed as John had already stepped forward into the lane and was busy signalling to the oncoming vehicle, giving Sherlock no opportunity to react to his words. The car stopped, leaving the engine running as the driver was obviously unwilling to be without the heating for even a moment or to invest more time than necessary in a conversation with a stranger in the snowed-under Welsh landscape in the middle of the night.

Sherlock could not make out what was being spoken as John was leaning down and the running motor effectively screened off the sound, but he got the gist and caught a few clear words – _lost – friend – frozen_ - After one or two minutes everything seemed to have been said, matters settled and John returned to him with the broadest imaginable grin on his face.

'He said to follow him. His farm is just down the road!'

John brushed past Sherlock, again without giving him the chance to react or to reply and all Sherlock could do was follow him back to the car – _He's content, happy even … and very keen to take the lead. Showing me he's capable of freeing us from this misery_ – Sherlock bit back his rising irritation and confusion and made an effort to smile at John over the roof of the car before they both opened the doors and got in.

'Just follow him,' John repeated, when Sherlock didn't immediately start the motor, nodding in the direction of the waiting Land Rover.

'How can you be sure he's not the crazed serial killer we're after?' Sherlock casually asked and started the engine, ready to follow their saviour.

'Just trust me, will you?' John answered, sounding a bit peeved. Sherlock relented, biting back a sarcastic or cutting retort and gave John's thigh a squeeze instead. John dipped his chin, trying to hide a smile. Their eyes met and John had to laugh out loud, and whether this eruption of mirth was due to the elation or the absurdity of their situation he could not tell. Whatever it was, though, it was enough to let the tension of the last hours gradually slip away, leaving him elated, but very tired and very cold. He settled back into his seat and looked at Sherlock, at his half-profile, the narrowed eyes, the knitted brows, concentrating on the road and on the leading vehicle, and he was content.

'We were indeed very lucky he happened to come by, John.' Sherlock said, without breaking his gaze from the Land Rover. 'Always assuming he's not the man we're after …' John opened his mouth to reply, but Sherlock waved a possible retort away with a casual flick of his hand. 'I'm curious, though. What did you tell him why we're here?'

John cleared his throat, 'Told him we came for a hike,' Sherlock arched his brows questioningly. 'Yeah – I know we don't look it, especially not you in your suit and coat. We just have to play the ignorant Londoners, caught completely unawares by the rough Welsh winter.' Sherlock scoffed and John added, 'Which is not entirely wrong, come to think of it.'

'And what did you tell him _we_ were …?'

'Friends,' John answered and noticed the shadow passing over Sherlock's features. 'Sherl, I think it's better that way. We don't know anything about this man and I don't think he needs to know anything about us.'

'Would you have told him the same if you were here with a woman?' Sherlock glanced at John, who had turned to the window, and noticed the minuscule tensing of John's body - _Why did I ask this? Why did John's words sting? Why?_ – John cleared his throat, but was saved from answering Sherlock's question by a big farmhouse coming into sight, right at the end of the track they had just turned into. It loomed large in the darkness, almost forbidding, but the ground floor rooms were brightly illuminated, the warm glow beckoning them to come in.

'There we are, Sherl,' John said, sitting up excitedly in his seat, Sherlock's enquiry forgotten, his mind already moving on to a warm, cosy fire, maybe a cuppa and something to eat. And if they were really, really lucky for a second time this night, maybe they could even stay.

'Yes,' Sherlock said quietly, stopping the motor. 'Here we are.'

Before he got out of the car to follow John into the farmhouse he made sure to check his mobile, but still there was no signal.

oOo

'There you go, dear,' Mrs Redmond said and carefully placed a bowl of hot soup in front of John. She turned back to the Aga to fill another bowl for Sherlock, 'And one for you, love.'

'Thank you,' John said and Sherlock flashed one of those rare genuine smiles at the farmer's wife before they tucked in greedily. Mrs Redmond poured both of them a fresh cup of steaming tea and put a plate with buttered bread on the table. All the while she was chattering incessantly.

'What a night to be lost! It must have been freezing out there! Mind you, weather like that is not unusual here, this time of year, isn't it, Jeff?' Her husband sat at the table and grunted his assent. Sherlock was sure he had not been listening, but as a couple they seemed so fine-tuned to each other quirks and peculiarities that he knew exactly when his friendly grunt was expected. Alice Redmond smiled at her husband and continued her friendly chatter. Sherlock let her words wash over him and fixed his eyes on John, took in the way he smiled at Mrs Redmond and her husband, registered his friendly and open face, lit up handsomely by the warm glow of the fire in the large inglenook in the kitchen and the single lamp casting a tired shine over the old and well-scrubbed oak table. He looked like somebody who had been given everything he needed to be content.

Sherlock dropped his gaze and spooned some more of the soup into his mouth. It was hot and it was filling, and that was all Sherlock asked from nourishment. Sherlock concentrated on eating, but he perked up his ears when his brain filtered out the words _sleep_ and _spare room _from Alice's constant flood of words –_ Interesting!_ –Tuning in to Mrs Redmond chatter again, he turned his full attention to her. 'I hope the spare room is all right for you.' She was saying, 'It's freshly made up and Jeff lit the fire. I'm sorry we've only got the one, though. I hope you don't mind?'

'We don't mind at all, do we John?' Sherlock fixed his eyes on John who nodded his assent, albeit a bit unwillingly. He seemed awkward and when they locked eyes, Sherlock read the plea not to pursue this train of thought any further. Sherlock frowned and dropped his gaze to the table again. His heart clenched, which startled him, and suddenly he had had enough to eat, enough company, simply enough of this day and night. He pushed the bowl away from him, 'Mrs Redmond …'

'Alice, please!'

'Alice,' Sherlock conceded with a small, rather forced smile, 'Could you show us the spare room, please? We're both very tired and would really like to get some sleep.'

John dipped his chin and tried to hide his smile, trust Sherlock to skip common courtesy and plunge right in. Should Mrs Redmond be surprised by the bluntness of his approach, she was very good at hiding it.

'Oh, yes. Sure, dear. I wasn't thinking, of course you must be thoroughly exhausted!' She clasped her hands in front of her apron and smiled at them both. It was just a short moment of relative calmness, though, and she soon busied herself clearing the table. Jeff surprised them all when he gruffly said, 'Leave it, Alice. I'll do that later. You show the boys the spare room now.'

Sherlock's eyebrow arched and he fixed his gaze on Jeff Redmond when he heard the term 'boys' which sounded a bit alien coming from an elderly farmer. The farmer squarely met his challenging gaze and nodded almost imperceptibly.

'Right, you are!' Alice said good-naturedly. She grabbed a few fresh towels from a laundry basket and ushered them both out of the warm kitchen into the much colder and draughty farmhouse hall.

oOo

'Still no signal?' John asked when he saw that Sherlock was checking and re-checking his mobile for the umpteenth time since Alice had shown them to their room. John shrugged out of his clothes and folded them carefully onto the spare bed, next to Sherlock's carelessly discarded suit. John seriously fought the impulse for a moment, but he could not help it and straightened the black jacket and the matching trousers so that they would be at least presentable in the morning.

Alice had been as good as gold and had taken them to this rather over-decorated, but cosy room, incessantly chattering and showing them everything they needed to know. She had wished them goodnight and left them to it, a fire crackling pleasantly in the fireplace and hot water bottles placed in the beds to take the chill away. John checked that the window was slightly open before he switched off the light, leaving only the glow from the fire to illuminate the room.

'Move over, Sherl' John said when he climbed into the bed next to him. Sherlock scoffed, but obliged and shuffled as far as possible towards the wall. Still, this didn't leave a lot of space to manoeuvre in the narrow bed they wanted to share for the night. It was no question that the identical twin of this bed, which was placed against the other wall, would just be used as a convenient storage place to leave their stuff on. Judging from the size and shape of the two beds, it must have been a children's room and John recalled Alice indeed mentioning something along these lines.

John wiggled, making the whole bed wobble precariously until he had found a comfortable position. With a heartfelt sigh he let his head sink on Sherlock's chest. 'God, you're cold all over, Sherl.' A warm hand sneaked down to Sherlock's belly, to the soft flesh there, over the well-defined muscles and moved gently up and down. 'Freezing cold you are,' John whispered against Sherlock's chest, his warm breath ghosting over the few downy hairs. Light kisses caressed the ivory skin, soft lips brushed lovingly over his chest. John felt Sherlock's body tensing in response, but something was wrong and he held his breath.

'John, why can't you tell people openly that we are in a relationship?' Sherlock demanded, not bothering in the least to keep his voice down. 'That I am your partner and that we are perfectly all right to sleep in one room and should the need arise even in one bed?'

'Oh – _Jesus_. What now?' John hissed and flopped onto his back. A gesture which was less than effective as the bed was so small that he could not move very far away from Sherlock.

'What _now_?' Sherlock repeated, a frown knitting his brow. 'John, you must have noticed yourself that you are very uncomfortable with the idea that the Redmonds might assume that you are - that _we_ are - gay and a couple.' His hand gestured through the air, expressing quite vividly the agitation he must be feeling, an agitation that his tone of voice managed to hide. 'John, you have done everything you could to disabuse them of this notion. Care to tell me why?'

John cleared his throat, folding his hands over his belly, buying time. 'I can't say that I have noticed, Sherlock, no. And if I did such a thing as trying to deny our relationship then I didn't do it consciously.' He hesitated, letting a momentary pause linger, creating an uncomfortable lull in their conversation. Sherlock propped himself on his elbow and looked down on John. He waited. John, feeling effectively trapped in this bed and in this conversation, finally relented and broke the silence. 'Why are you so keen on everybody to know?'

'Why are you so keen on everybody _not_ to know?'

'I don't see why I should flaunt it like a … like a …'

'Like what?'

'Like a weapon or a distinguishing mark.' John was rapidly growing tired of this frankly superfluous argument. 'I don't see why everybody needs to be informed. It's ours, our life, our way … Sherl, _you_ know what I feel for you.'

'Do I? You never said,' Sherlock replied, not missing a beat and fixing his intense gaze on him, piercing ice blue eyes boring into John's.

'No need to say it, you know,' John replied, just that little bit flustered.

'Maybe there is a need for me to hear it,' Sherlock said softly. John glanced up at him and when he saw the fear, the insecurity behind this bold as brass attitude everything clicked into place. John saw - as clear as glass - that Sherlock probably never had heard those words from a person who genuinely, utterly and unconditionally loved him before. And John became aware that he had indeed not told him how he felt yet. His only excuse was that the last days had been a flurry of emotions, their finding each other centering on the passion, on the satisfaction of bodily desires and thereby omitting and neglecting the heart. At least that must be how Sherlock saw it, John deduced. Sherlock smiled when he read John's face and saw exactly what he wanted to see there.

'I love you, my John,' Sherlock softly said, beating John to it. Seeing the effect those few words had on him, he realised it would be worth saying them over and over again, always and always and forever. John swallowed around a lump around in his throat, fighting back frankly childish tears. Why would he cry now? Now of all moments? Sherlock chuckled when he saw the fight on John's face and bent down to kiss him. But John stopped him and after a few breathless seconds he whispered against his lips. 'I love you too, you arrogant git. Loved you for quite a while and I reckon I will love you for some time to come.'

Sherlock smiled, greedily drinking in the first declaration of love that had ever been aimed at him – Him, the self-proclaimed sociopath, the freak, the heartless, arrogant git, the genius, the once so lonely and miserable Sherlock Holmes. He bent down again to finally claim John's lips when the text alert chimed. 'For fuck's sake …' John snapped and Sherlock arched his brow. They both knew that even in this life-altering moment it was beyond Sherlock to just let the phone and the outer world be. He grabbed the phone and quickly unlocked it to read the message. The corners of his lips curled into his characteristic lopsided smile when the message sank in. 'What is it?' John asked and Sherlock willingly handed him the phone.

_Where are you? I've been trying to reach you both for hours! Anyway - We got him, made his way into London this afternoon, became very careless indeed! No need to scour the Welsh countryside any longer. Hope you two are all right! Do get in touch, will you? Lestrade_

John smiled and let the phone fall to the carpeted floor. 'No need for that tonight anymore, then,' he whispered. 'Where were we, Sherl?'

'You just declared your love for me …'

'And you for me.'

'Obviously.'

John opened his mouth to reply, but then he wisely decided to let Sherlock have the last word in that matter. After all he had the rest of their lives to find the perfect answer.

* * *

**A/N** Thanks to the lovely **Oneofthoselunatics** for the prompt! Thanks also to **WitchRavenFox, MapleleafCameo, PowerOgirl, Tohru-Excel, ThilboLove** and **Wingatron** for their continuing support. You are so lovely and you regularly make my day ;-D - If I forgot anybody, please forgive me ...

Also, thank you very much to everybody who reviewed, alerted or favourited this or any other of my fics in the past weeks!

See you, my lovelies!

JJ


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